


Lovin' You

by midoritakamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, I know the ship sounds weird but hear me out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8766034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midoritakamine/pseuds/midoritakamine
Summary: There has to be a reason this barista hasn't been fired yet, Lovino muses to himself as he thumbs his yet-again incorrect name. Nobody this incompetent at verbally processing a name could hold this job.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero ideas on how I got so deep into rarepair hell, but I did. Somehow. And now, considering there's the equivalent of nothing for these two out there, I gotta make it myself.  
> And holy shit, do I love EstRom. Please love EstRom with me.
> 
> Based off my own prompt: a coffee shop AU where A keeps misspelling B's name because A wants their attention.  
> I've never written for Hetalia before so please excuse any mischaracterization.

"Lovin' You?"

Articulating it aloud makes Lovino's nose scrunch up even further than it was. After his brother's several incidents of returning in the morning to their Italian bistro with half-empty cups, cold cups, or at times absolutely no cups of coffee from the shop down the street ("Those pretty girls were so cold, and I felt guilty not sharing the hot coffee with th- no, no! Lovino, please! Don't hurt meee! Grandpaaaaa!"), he had been put in charge of fetching their drinks in the morning before opening time. Not that he isn't any less prone to offering drinks to chilly girls he passes, but he at least has the right mind Feliciano lacked to return with _something_ in his hands.

However, he notices something that starts the very first day he fetches coffee: the barista that takes his order spells his name wrong. The first incident he shrugs off; everybody makes mistakes and, judging by the pale skin and bright blue eyes behind his glasses, this barista doesn't know Italian nor Italian name spellings. A bit surprising, given how coffee brands stole his language to indicate sizes of the cups, but nothing he bothers himself with for an extended period. He had better things to attend to.

The following incidents, happening daily, are what throw him through a loop. How hard of a name was Lovino's to spell? Surely if this kid took even a standard first year of Spanish in high school, he'd at least be able to transfer that knowledge to spelling an Italian name. The languages were both romance (something that annoying waiter his grandfather took a liking to and subsequently hired liked to remind "Lovi" of), thus there were basic similarities. Surely this barista, no matter how white, could get a clue hearing his name day after day. Lovino laments once again the day the cute Belgian barista quit her job to work at the waffle house several blocks away. She always got his name right.

It's around the 16th misspelling of his name that Lovino clues into something. It's just his name misspelled. His grandfather's and Feliciano's are spelled correctly in that somewhat loopy handwriting that always manages to spell his name wrong, sometimes even separating it out into similar words. Luhvino, Loovineo, Love In You, and Lovino swears one day he receives a cup that says Love I Do.

There has to be a reason this barista hasn't been fired yet, Lovino muses to himself as he thumbs his yet-again incorrect name. Nobody this incompetent at verbally processing a name could hold this job. He attributes the misspelling to the fact that this barista, skinny and pale and from the looks of it a shut in college student, is just another one of those white kids he's dealt with all his life. Middle class, smarter than average or at least claims to be, doesn't see the point in learning another language because English was all he needed. Those types.

And those types make Lovino very angry.

He knows he has a temper and he knows by now, after a few argumentative spats with the blonde cop that always seems to end up on his case ("Brats like you are the reason my tea always chills over and I can never have a moment of peace, you know that?"), that whenever he gets angry he needs to leave the situation lest that cop comes by again with his annoying accent and actually arrest him as he threatens so much. His grandfather wouldn't like bailing him out, and if anything Lovino was more in fear of how angry he'd be than the actual arrest.

And yet, something about this guy misspelling his name- only his name!- makes Lovino throw that out the window.

"Oy, barista!" Setting his cup of coffee none too gently on the counter, his eyes squinted as he takes in the slight surprise on the white boy's face. Good, he looks scared of him. "Why're you always misspelling my name?"

If Lovino's any good at reading people, he swears the man breathes a sigh of relief at his words. Relief?! The mere idea irritates him further.

Jabbing a finger in his face, Lovino all but crawls onto the counter. He catches himself though, and settles for keeping his feet on the ground as he leans closer. He has to keep at least some of his behavior in check lest that blonde cop (or worse, his grandfather) hear of the scene he's causing. "I asked ya something, ya jerk! Answer me when I talk to you."

There's a cryptic gleam in the barista's eyes, as if he knows Lovino is attempting to intimidate him and as if it has no affect on him. That continues to irritate Lovino.

"I'm sorry sir," the barista offers him, still smiling and still eyeing him with a look Lovino can't place. "How do you spell your name?"

"Are you kidding me?" Lovino grumbles, rubbing his temples as he props his chin in his other hand. "You seriously can't- nevermind, whatever. I guess even idiots need jobs." He grabs a pen and a napkin and quickly scribbles his name. "There."

The barista takes it and pockets it. "I'm sorry again sir. From now on, your coffee will have the correct spelling on it."

"It damn well better," is all Lovino says as he takes the tray of three coffees and leaves the shop. If the door had allowed him to, he would have slammed it.

* * *

 

Unfortunately for him, the name on the cup the next morning is spelled the strangest way yet.

Briefly, Lovino casts his gaze to the barista's nametag so he knows whose name to snarl. "You!"

The barista, Eduard based off his name tag, glances up from the machine he's fiddling with with an even smile. "Hello again sir."

"Don't hello me!" Lovino shoves the coffee forward again. "My name. Again, and it's even weirder than usual." His eyes are but little slits as he watches the blonde adjust the glasses on his face as he raises the cup to eye level. What he says shocks Lovino.

"Sir, this isn't incorrect at all."

Sputtering, Lovino snatches the cup back, nearly spilling it over both their hands (which, Lovino notes mentally, brush briefly as he grabs the cup. Why did he even note that is his next thought). He can almost feel a vein burst off his head. Aren't glasses guys supposed to be smart?

"You- are you playing some kind of game with me, jackass?" Lovino holds up the cup and points at the loopy scribbling on the cup. "This isn't my name! This is a damn set of numbers!" There's no response from the barista, just a grin. As if that grin is gonna appease Lovino... it did, for some reason, make him calm down a little. "Look, I don't get what you're playing at here buddy, but you must be stupid or blind to think this is how Lovino is spelled. Names aren't spelled with numbers."

The barista waves a hand as if there's nothing wrong. "Perhaps names aren't but many things are."

"Such as?"

There's a glint in his eye that wasn't there before. It makes Lovino take a step back. "Phone numbers."

Oh. _Oh_. It takes a moment to sink in, but Lovino finally is able to register what that glint in the barista's eyes is; it's the same one the Spanish waiter at his family's bistro has when that brunet piano player stops by for dinner.

_It's- he's flirting with me_? Lovino holds his gaze steadily for a few seconds to test the idea. When the barista's grin grows a little wider, there's no way to deny it. This guy is totally flirting with him. Suddenly all the misspelled names that Lovino has agonized over make sense. Especially the very first one he receives: the Lovin' You one.

All of his anger and bravado slink away and all that's left for Lovino to fall back on is embarrassment. With a huff and a blush brighter than the light in the barista's- no, in Eduard's eyes, Lovino turns on his heel and makes his way to the door.

He refuses to stop walking until he reaches the bistro, and even then he rushes by both his grandfather and Feliciano. He ignores their complaints of him not having their drinks, he ignores the light footsteps of his brother following him, he ignores the cat in the middle of the hallway. He ignores it all until he is safely behind the wood of his door before he allows himself to breathe again.

Glancing at the body mirror leaning against the wall opposite of him, Lovino takes in the flush in his cheeks. It makes him even more flustered as he curses under his breath and sits down on his bed. He stares at his feet for a few seconds. Between him and that barista, slowly Lovino realizes that it's him who's the idiot. Him, who prided himself on being able to charm most every girl he wants, couldn't even recognize somebody trying to charm him. He laughs a little; there _are_ better ways to charm him than misspelling his name. He almost wishes he could tell the barista that. Raising the cup in his hand, Lovino takes a long swig of the coffee before he- wait.

He looks at his hand. The coffee cup, complete with the series of numbers looks back at him. The zero is drawn in the shape of a heart.

His own heart picks up and, disgruntled with the warmth spreading through him at the very least, Lovino falls back on the bed. He isn't sure how long he lays there. He isn't sure what exactly he does there. What he is sure of is that tomorrow he's getting the Vargas' coffee. And when he gets the coffee, he's gonna have to look that barista in his stupid blue eyes and deal with his stupid grin as he once again stupidly misspells his name for attention.

"Bastard." Lovino mutters. He can't dissuade himself from grinning through, absently running his thumb over the surface of the cup where the phone number sits. He almost hesitates. Almost.

With his free hand, Lovino grabs his phone. Within a moment, the number finally has a name.

Eduard.

Briefly, before he closes his eyes out of emotional exhaustion, Lovino considers spelling _his_ name wrong in his phone.


End file.
